


stay for a long time.

by redhoods



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-06-26 00:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19756540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: Caleb still hasn’t stirred when Fjord puts the plate and mug on the table, so he presses his palm between his shoulders, “Cay.”It takes a few minutes, but he stays put, hand light on Caleb’s back while he stirs and drags himself into wakefulness.“Mornin’, sleepy head,” he greets, when Caleb finally opens his eyes.-----a collection  of soft widofjord ficlets.





	1. sleepy morning.

**Author's Note:**

> we could use some soft positivity in this fandom, so i'm taking prompts however you want to send them to me.
> 
> title is from i like me better by lauv.

The bed is empty when he wakes up.

There’s the barest amount of early morning light filtering in the curtains and Fjord presses his knuckles against his eyes, before reaching out to feel the sheets. He breathes out quietly when he meets nothing but cool cotton and sits up.

It’s not the first time, won’t be the last time.

Caleb’s notorious about not coming to bed at all, while Fjord knows he’s plenty guilty of slipping out of bed in the still twilight hours to not disturb Caleb with his nightmares. They’ve talked about it on multiple occasions, decided it’s easier to accept that it happens rather than get upset with each other.

He takes the stairs carefully, sidestepping the creaky bit of the stair six down from the top and completely avoiding the one three up from the bottom. 

Tentatively hopeful, he checks the couch first. Caleb isn’t there and the duvet blanket is still folded on the back. However, Frumpkin is curled up on the blanket, just a pile of orange and brown fur in a ball. He backs carefully away towards the kitchen, turning only when he’s a safe distance from the couch.

The kitchen light is still on and there at the table, Caleb.

He’s got papers spread out in a wide arc around him, a few books, and a slew of pens.

There’s even a pen on the floor by his chair and a half empty mug that Fjord realizes is tea when he gets closer.

Caleb is snoring softly, soft whuffs of breath that are gently stirring his hair and the papers around him. Fondness swells in his chest and Fjord resists the urge to brush his hair back out of his face just yet. Instead he takes the mug away to the counter and gently pulls the pen still held in Caleb’s lax grip.

After all this time, he’s got a routine to this.

He starts the coffee pot first, knows the smell of brewing coffee will make Caleb more amenable to eating something.

Frumpkin joins him while he’s scrambling eggs and he dishes out a small portion into a bowl on the counter for the cat, before he starts on the bacon and toast.

There’s no movement from the table, so he approaches quietly and starts carefully collecting the papers. He’s learned this too, how to tell which stay together so he can stack them neatly on top of Caleb’s books. Several semesters of finals and midterms have prepared him for this.

He puts honey butter on the toast, slices an apple, and doctors up Caleb’s coffee the way he likes.

Caleb still hasn’t stirred when Fjord puts the plate and mug on the table, so he presses his palm between his shoulders, “Cay.”

It takes a few minutes, but he stays put, hand light on Caleb’s back while he stirs and drags himself into wakefulness.

“Mornin’, sleepy head,” he greets, when Caleb finally opens his eyes.

There’s only slurred mumbles in response and he almost takes a fist to the gut when Caleb stretches, his back and shoulders popping as his jaw splits on a yawn.

Once Caleb has greedily claimed his mug, still nonverbal but awake, Fjord steps closer and nudges a kiss against the crown of his head. “I’m going to meet Beau for a run,” he doesn’t wait for a response, there won’t be one, “Eat, finish your grading, after I get back I’ll carry you to the shower if I have to.”

That only gets a quiet snort and he watches Caleb reach out, knows that he’s going for the apple slices.

“I love you,” he adds and the hand that curls in the front of his shirt catches him by surprise.

Caleb tugs and he goes easily, happily accepting a coffee flavored kiss.

They pull apart slow and easy and Fjord nudges the jut of a tusk against the corner of his mouth, then straightens his back. He gives in finally and tucks a piece of hair behind Caleb’s ear, thumbs gently at his jaw, “Frumpkin already had eggs, don’t let him guilt you out of yours.”

He steps away because if he doesn’t, he’ll stay right there, basking in Caleb’s quiet, sleepy affection and ease, before the stress of grading sinks back in.

“Eat,” he urges gently, turning away as Caleb pulls his papers closer.

When he’s at the threshold, Caleb calls out, “Ich liebe dich,” and Fjord only hums his response as he continues his way out.


	2. hypoallergenic familiar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rache asked for caleb making frumpkin hypoallergenic to cuddle a sad fjord and this came out. love empire siblings taking care of fjord.

Beau slams into the seat next to him, “Do something.”

Taking a slow breath, Caleb closes his book gently, folding his arm around it and glancing over to her, “About what, Beauregard?”

She stares at him.

Caleb exhales noisily, then glances away, towards Fjord. “I am not sure what to do,” he admits, quiet in his helplessness here and now. This is different than what he’s used to, heavy on his shoulders and chest, cloying in his throat. “I wish I knew.”

Fjord looks very small, shoulders hunched in towards his chest, taking up as little space as possible where he’s tucked himself into the corner of the tavern room. Even across the room, Caleb can see he’s picking at his tusk with his claws. He hasn’t said anything to anyone for hours, though he knows Beau and Jester have both tried.

“What do you...” Beau stops and she’s frowning in Fjord’s direction, concern written into every line of her face, “What helps you?”

Flexing his fingers around his book, Caleb considers, “You all, my cat--”

“--Frumpkin!” Beau gestures wide with her arms, “Give him Frumpkin!”

Caleb blinks at her, “He is allergic.”

She deflates, “Isn’t Frumpkin like a fey? He’s not even a cat cat.”

He tilts away from her, “He is a cat.”

“He’s a fey creature.”

“A cat.”

“Fey.”

“A fey cat is still a cat, Beauregard.’

She sighs noisily at him.

“Wait,” he says suddenly.

“Wait,” she echoes.

He ignores her, “Keep an eye on him, I will be back.”

“What? Where the fuck are you going, Caleb? Caleb!”

\-----

The spell ends with the usual discharge of energy and Frumpkin blinks at him, disinterested.

“He’s still a cat.”

Caleb jerks and twists around on his ass, “How long have you been there?”

Beau jerks her chin at him, “He’s still a cat.”

“Ja,’ Caleb agrees and scoops Frumpkin up to his chest, tucks his nose behind Frumpkin’s ears, and brushes right by her out the door. Frumpkin’s fur hides his smirk at her disgusted noise.

Her footfalls come soon behind him, “Did your spell not work?”

“I am not sure.”

“How are you not sure? Magic is your thing.”

“I am not allergic, I cannot tell.”

“Did you... make him not...” Beau trails off, “Is he not going to make Fjord sneeze?”

“That is my hope,” Caleb says as they clear onto the first floor. He turns immediately to the corner where Fjord has been posted up for most of the day and finds Caduceus sitting there as well.

Neither of them are talking, just existing next to each other and he wonders if Fjord is even aware that Caduceus is there. He lets Frumpkin down to the floor and tells him over the bond to go push his way into Fjord’s lap. Beau comes up next to him and neither of them say anything as Frumpkin loops around the tavern, making circuits on his way to Fjord. 

It says something that Fjord doesn’t even react to the first paw that touches his knee, nor the second.

Caleb twists his fingers together and watches Frumpkin leap up into Fjord’s lap and immediately start nuzzling into the half orc’s chest, twisting himself in circles.

Fjord jerks suddenly, then goes very, very still, staring down at the cat, and Caleb prepares to snap him away. Then, all at once, Fjord’s shoulders slump right down and he curls an arm around Frumpkin, who takes it graciously, letting himself be smothered to Fjord’s chest. 

“Think it worked,” Beau says and claps him on the shoulder before brushing by him.

Nodding to himself, Caleb watches her join Jester and Nott, then looks back to Fjord.

Caduceus is looking at him and nods once when they make eye contact. Then stands and gestures to his newly emptied seat, leaving Fjord and Frumpkin to join the others. Clearly, Caduceus thinks he should join Fjord and Caleb waffles on it.

He doesn’t want to interrupt whatever tentative peace Fjord might have found with Frumpkin, but... he takes a deep breath and crosses the room.

Frumpkin is purring when he gets closer and it isn’t until he sinks into the chair that he realizes it’s not just Frumpkin, but there’s also a stilting rumble coming from Fjord’s chest as well. Caleb doesn’t know what to do with the feeling it bubbles up in his chest and he decides to deal with it later.

Neither of them says anything for a long time and eventually Caleb pulls his book out once more, finding the place he left off and continuing to read once more.

He’s made it three pages when something presses against his side and he realizes its Fjord, tipped over sideways in his own chair and Caleb settles himself lower in the chair, accepting the weight. A few measured breaths later and Fjord’s head touches his shoulder, light like he’s testing the waters.

“It’s okay,” Caleb says quietly.

Fjord’s inhale is loud and ragged, even over the quiet din of the tavern but he relaxes, his full weight against Caleb’s side and shoulder now.

The purring kicks up again louder and he almost doesn’t hear the quiet, “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt me @vowofenmity on twitter.


	3. cooking together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> elizabeth asked for cooking together and soft domesticity, both of which are part of my brand so.

A hand touches his lower back, the soft brush of a kiss to his shoulder, and Fjord curves against the counter a little so Caleb can slide behind him to get to the stove. “Danke, liebling,” Caleb says and sizzling follows as Caleb lays meat into the hot skillet.

Their apartment is small, kitchen laughable, but they’ve learned how to move around each other with only an occasional elbow to the gut.

He focuses on slicing the garlic and half an onion, careful, even dices, and Caleb waits until he pauses to scrape them to the side to dig his chin into his shoulder. Absently, Fjord turns his head and kisses the crown of Caleb’s, then rough chops some parsley from the little herb garden he has on their balcony.

“The herbs are doing well,” Caleb says, reaching out and thumbing over one of the parsley leaves.

It’d taken a little time and patience and a few packs of seeds for Fjord to get the hang of it, quiet conversations on the phone with Caduceus about where to position them and about keeping mint in its own container far away from the others.

He nods, “Balcony smells real good now too.” He lifts the cutting board and scrapes the onion and garlic into a pot to sweat them out a little before he adds the butter.

“Potatoes will be done soon, I think,” Caleb steps away to check the meat and Fjord watches him quietly, takes him in. The rumpled button up that he wore to work now undone four buttons at the top, revealing freckled skin and dark chest hair, his sleeves rolled up his forearms, his hair falling out of his elastic.

Affection and desire pulse warmly through him and there’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here with this beautiful man.

Even when Caleb catches him out and out staring at quirks an amused brow at him.

Fjord smiles at him and turns to stir the onions before he adds the butter. It presses his arm to Caleb’s and he doesn’t move away, occupying himself with stirring the pot.

“Potatoes,” Caleb says, that internal clock of his more accurate than any timer.

Grabbing a fork, Fjord stabs at one of the potato chunks in the boiling water. It slides off as soon as he lifts the fork and he hums, “Perfect,” and feels Caleb move away from his side. Pot holders come into his line of sight and he takes them without a word, using them to lift the pot off the burner.

Behind him, the burner clicks off as Caleb retakes his own place tending to the meat.

Fjord steps to the sink, careful with himself and the pot, knuckles narrowly scraping the spice rack on the wall but it doesn’t budge. Steam billows as he starts pouring then tips the pot, dumping the potatoes into the strainer. “Check the--”

“--butter is melted,” Caleb interjects and another burner clicks off.

He huffs off a quiet laugh and pulls a large bowl from one of the higher shelves above his head.

There’s barely room for it on the counter, but it’s the only one they have that’ll do so he moves the steaming potatoes into it and accepts the masher that Caleb hands him.

Caleb presses behind him again and the fridge opens with a soft creak, “We’ll need more cream,” he says and before Fjord can respond, “I’m adding it to the list.” The fridge closes again and there’s a gentle scritch of pen on paper as Caleb adds to their grocery list.

Tomorrow, he’ll go to the farmer’s market after his shift at the cafe with Molly. 

Maybe there’ll be fresh strawberries he can surprise Caleb with.

The bottle of cream clinks off the counter when Caleb sets it just out of range of his elbow and Fjord hums his appreciation as he works on mashing the potatoes.

He’s expecting Caleb to squeeze behind him again, but he’s not expecting Caleb to stop, to cup his hips and touch his forehead to the space between his shoulders. It settles him, quiets the spinning thoughts in his head, and Fjord breathes out quietly.

“Ich liebe dich,” Caleb says as he withdraws, though his palm drags in lingering pressure against Fjord’s lower back.

“Love you too, Cay,” Fjord replies, slanting him a smile, before he turns back to the bowl. He doesn’t want to overmash, so he stops and scoops up the cream. It’s an eyeball thing that drives Caleb nuts every time, the way Fjord simply guesses how much he’ll need and how often he’s right about it.

Caleb’s more of a baker, though anytime he cooks meat it always comes out perfect.

He gets a big spoon from the utensil cup and mixes the potatoes, fluffing them up before he adds the melted butter mixture to it. Last is the parsley and then he sets about getting plates and glasses down for each of them.

“Plate,” Caleb says from the stove, nearly startling Fjord.

Stepping over to join him, Fjord offers each plate in turn.

They dish out their food in quiet unison and Fjord takes them into the living room while Caleb gets their drinks and utensils.

Their living room isn’t much bigger than the kitchen, room for the couch and Caleb’s desk and not much else. One day, they’ll have something bigger, something for the both of them, with a bigger kitchen and an office for Caleb and maybe somewhere he can plant a garden.

Until then, he’s okay with squishing together on the couch to eat their dinner, Caleb’s legs over his lap as he talks about his students and upcoming spring break plans.


	4. quiet night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mel wanted fjord falling asleep on caleb while he reads
> 
> my heart is super full.

The house is quiet around them, the only sound that of the fire gently crackling in the fireplace and the rumbling purr coming from Fjord himself. Even the old bones of their house have taken a rest from their constant gentle creaking and settling, granting them unnecessary respite from sounds that have long become familiar and comfortable.

Even a safe distance from the blaze of the fire, Fjord feels almost too warm, heat and the soft gently scrape of Caleb’s blunt nails over his scalp. He rubs his cheek against Caleb’s thighs and resettles, face half mashed into Caleb’s legs now.

A long finger traces the shell of his ear and it twitches, pressing reflexively to his scalp.

Above him, Caleb hums in quiet amusement, his hand lifting away to turn the page of his book before he resumes gently petting his hands through Fjord’s hair. It’s absent minded, the way he does it, like Frumpkin is in his lap instead of Fjord.

He doesn’t mind, eyes drifting closed with quiet contentment.

Caleb’s nails gently scrape through his overlong undercut, a gentle rasp that’s almost drown out by the low sound that Fjord’s chest is producing. “If you’d like,” Caleb starts and waits until Fjord hums, “I could help you trim this up,” and he tugs gentle at one of Fjord’s curls.

It’s the longest his hair has been since he’d met Caleb and the others, the longest he’s let it get before taking to it with frustration and a jack knife.

Or quietly let Beau bully him into a chair, trusting the gentle scrape of her straight razor and the creak of an old pair of scissors she carried. She’d always trusted him to return the favor, without even a threat in warning against fucking up. They haven’t seen her in a while and his chest aches quietly, even though he knows she’s safe.

He knows that Caleb likes it, hasn’t quite made a secret of how he enjoys the way his hair curls, wild and untamed. 

Jester had called it handsome the last time she’d visited, said he’d looked like the hero on a romance novel, and Caleb’s agreement had been fervent and honest, though quiet.

“Bärchen, are you still awake?”

Fjord hums and isn’t sure how long its actually been since the offer had been made, “Think I’ll leave it be for a while longer,” he says, voice a little slurred, tongue thick with impending sleep and emotions.

Caleb tugs on another curl in response and want is thick like molasses in Fjord’s veins, like a footnote or afterthought to the heavy weight of comfort and safety. There’s no urgency, no need to sate it, like a slow rising tide ebbing and flowing.

Another page turns and Caleb goes back to gentle passes through his hair, gentle scrapes over his scalp.

“Hey Caleb,” he says, an indeterminate amount of time later.

“Ja?” 

He doesn’t continue right away, keeps his eyes closed, and can feel when Caleb rests his book to the side after a while of silence. The words stick to his throat and his purring doesn’t stop as he tries to work them out.

Caleb waits him out, both hands now gently petting through his hair as he does so, his silence gentle, unexpectant.

Fjord is so endlessly grateful for him that he thinks one day he might burst from the feeling of it all inside himself, even if he lets it all out every chance he gets, now that he can, now that the words feel less clunky in his mouth. Tells Caleb that he loves him often, how much he appreciates him, how beautiful he is.

These are different words, new ones that have his heart thudding, painful against his ribcage.

And Caleb is still calm and patient with him, willing to wait for this too.

“Marry me,” he says to the quiet of their home, still with his eyes closed against the onslaught of his own feelings, claws digging gentle into his palms.

Caleb’s hands don’t so much as pause and his voice is a low rasp, “Okay.”

“Okay?” He croaks out and opens his eyes finally, turning on the couch to look up at Caleb’s face. Their couch isn’t quite big enough for the breadth of him and he’s got to be careful or he’ll tumble off, but it’ll be worth it.

“Ja,” Caleb says, hand falling to Fjord’s cheek, thumb gentle over his cheekbone, “I’ll marry you,” he adds.

Fjord nods.

It’s not like he’d been expecting a no or anything of the sort, but there’s a difference between logically knowing and hearing it directly from Caleb himself. He breathes out, shaky, and basks in the smile that curls under Caleb’s beard, finds one of his own to return.

Caleb curves over him and kisses him, a soft smudge of their lips, not quite a good kiss because of the angle, but one of the best.

He gently scrapes his claws over the side of Caleb’s neck, cupping it gently, tipping his head back for a little more contact, to keep him there just a few seconds longer before he sinks back down.

“I love you,” Caleb says, quiet, and thumbs over his lower lip then across his jaw, around the curve of his ear. His smile is still present, eyes bright blue in the light of the flames, and he’s never not going to be endlessly gorgeous to Fjord’s eyes.

Swallowing, he turns his face into Caleb’s belly, muffles his, “I love you,” there and then shifts back to his previous position, cheek against Caleb’s thighs, eyes closed as he breathes. Caleb scratches fingers through his hair again and his purring comes back in earnest as Caleb picks his book back up to continue reading.

He thinks about the ring Nott helped him pick out, the one that he knows Caleb knows about.

In the morning, he’ll get it out and hope his hands don’t shake when he puts it on his finger.

For now, he settles, counts the gentle sweeps of Caleb’s fingers, and drifts when Caleb turns his page.


	5. post nightmare comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lem wanted forehead touching and hand holding and kissing hands and this got very far away from me.
> 
> set after episode 70?????????????????? i guess???????
> 
> warning for minor nightmare induced self harm.

Sleeping under the tree had been a good idea at first, a desperate bid at holding whatever nightmares might find him at bay, but Fjord finds himself restless under the jars of light that clink with every passing breeze. Caduceus’s snores are far from a new thing, but even they are dragging against his nerves tonight, and Fjord tosses a little, trying to find comfort.

None comes and he sighs as he pushes himself to stand, dusting off his clothes.

He curls his bare toes in the dirt, breathes it all in for a minute, and then takes the ladder down into the tower proper.

The house is quiet as he steps onto the second floor and he stops outside his own door, only a brief hesitation, then keeps going. He pauses outside of Jester and Beau’s door, listening, but there’s no sound from them, so he takes the stairs down.

Silence reigns on the first floor and he breathes heavily through his nose.

His dark vision is the only thing that guides him and he wanders, aimless, and unsure of what to do with himself.

He doesn’t even know what time it is.

The door to the library slash lab is open and Fjord presses his palm to it, half expecting to see Caleb awake and studying. There’s no one in the room though and he swallows back unfounded disappointment at realizing that Caleb’s door is closed and there’s no light spilling out.

He hasn’t spent much time in here, always a little unnerved by the look on Nott’s face when she got around chemicals. Now he gives himself a chance to look, curious as he glances over all the little tubes and vials and instruments, though he’s careful to keep his hands behind his back.

Then he drifts to the shelves.

They’re almost forlorn in their bareness and he thinks its been a while since Caleb’s accrued any new books, then wonders if there’s a bookstore around. Even if the library won’t allow them access, he doubts a bookstore would be so stingy if gold were involved.

Not that he’d have a clue what to pick up, so he discards the thought.

He thumbs the spine of one of the books before he steps towards the door.

Then he hears it, a soft whine maybe, and thinks he’s imaging it. He stops, one foot still hovering in the air, and a hand half towards the door.

“You’re losing your mind,” he says to himself, about to discard it and return to his own room, but the sound happens again, louder, from Caleb’s room. He puts his foot down and pivots, turning towards the source, thinking that it must be Frumpkin, wanting out.

It’s stupid, though.

He takes the first step, then the second, then the few to get him until he’s right at the door. The sounds are louder now, clearly not a cat, clearly Caleb in distress.

The next cry is an anguished shout and Fjord thinks privacy be damned and shoves his way into the room. There’s no point to his aggressiveness, the door isn’t even locked and he nearly falls through the frame. Thankfully the darkness of the library means his eyes are adjusted so that he can see Caleb on the bed.

Caleb, who is arced off the bed, face twisted in anguish, screaming while he claws at his own arms.

Hesitation is no longer part of his vocabulary and he’s at the bed before he knows it, reaching out for Caleb’s shoulders. He has no idea what he’s doing, all he knows is that Caleb is clearly in distress and possibly hurting himself. “Caleb!” Fjord calls.

Caleb thrashes against him, nearly clips him in the jaw, so Fjord pushes his way onto the bed and wraps himself around Caleb. He might not be much stronger than Caleb, but he’s got more bulk, more breadth, and he works it to his advantage.

It works to a degree, Caleb can no longer thrash, can no longer scratch himself, but he continues to wail.

At a loss, Fjord starts humming, eventually settling on a less raucous tune from the sea. His voice is a little hoarse, rough from months of not singing, but he sinks into it with well worn familiarity. It works though, somehow, miraculously, Caleb starts to calm, the tension eking out of him in tiny fragments.

When Caleb is no longer tense in his grasp, no longer wailing, Fjord eases his grasp a little, “Caleb,”

Caleb jerks suddenly, nearly cracking Fjord in the jaw once more, “Was?” His voice is weak, scraped raw, “Fjord?” He starts twisting around furiously and Fjord releases him.

“You were shouting,” he offers apologetically.

There’s a minute, where Caleb just stares at him, eyes glinting in the dark, then suddenly he snaps his fingers and his globules of light start drifting around their heads.

Fjord shifts away, sitting on the edge of the bed, rather than laying on it, As he shifts to face Caleb, he sees them, the scratches dug into Caleb’s forearms, the blood welling up on them, “Shit, Caleb,” he says quietly, “Should I--”

“No,” Caleb says instantly, vehement, and Fjord raises his palms up. Then Caleb’s shoulders curve in, slumping as he deflates, “Sorry. I-- I do not wish to deprive anyone else of their well deserved rest. I’ve already disturbed your night as it is.”

Waving his hand, Fjord gives a sheepish smile, “Not as though I was getting much resting done.”

That draws Caleb’s interest and he lifts an eyebrow, “Have your nightmares returned?”

“I haven’t given them much of a chance tonight.”

“Ah,” Caleb relaxes again, staring down at his own arms. He looks wild under the soft glow from the lights, hair a mess, tear tracks drying, red eyed. The circles under his eyes are large and bruise dark. “If it would make you feel better, I would not turn away your help in tending to these.”

Fjord nods, hesitation still nil, “Absolutely.”

Caleb seems to relax just a tiny bit more and Fjord wonders if he was just grasping at the opportunity to not be left alone. “I still have some bandages in my bag,” he says, to his own hands, fingers curling carefully towards his palm before he flattens them and climbs off the bed.

It’s a strange moment of intimacy that Fjord isn’t sure how to handle. Caleb’s dressed down here, within the safety of their home, the most unguarded Fjord thinks he’s ever seen him. His sleep shirt is worn out and ragged and sleeveless, sliding off his shoulder, and it hangs to his thighs. He doesn’t have any pants on either, his legs pale and skinny in the light of his spell.

Fjord stares down at his own hands when it gets to be too much, at his claws, glinting like obsidian. They need to be cut down, too much has been going on lately and he hasn’t given himself the chance to stop and tend to them.

Feet come into his line of sight and he drags his gaze up.

Caleb is watching him, mouth twisted in an expression Fjord doesn’t understand, “Here, will you?”

“Of course,” Fjord says quietly, taking the bandages and he realizes that Caleb’s also got a small tin in his hands that he doesn’t think he’s noticed before.

“It is multipurpose salve, it was very useful when it was only Nott and I,” Caleb explains, twisting the cap off the salve and tipping the tin in Fjord’s direction. The smell of medicinal herbs wafts from it and Fjord’s nose twitches, though no sneeze comes.

He’s careful of his claws as he runs his fingers through the salve, then takes hold of Caleb’s wrist with his free hand. His fingers don’t even touch around Caleb’s wrist and he’s never noticed it, how big Caleb’s wrists are, how wide his palms are. Especially compared to the long, bony nature of his fingers. It’s a strange thing to notice and Fjord turns his attention to gently smoothing the salve over the lines of cuts.

Caleb steps closer and Fjord breathes him in, parchment and his fancy ink and wood smoke, all of it slightly muffled by the scent of herbs.

Once he finishes spreading salve on one arm, he trades, rubbing his thumb over the delicate bones of Caleb’s wrist as he scoops up a little more salve. He spreads it gentle and easy over these cuts. then wipes his hands on his trousers.

The silence prevails as he takes the roll of bandages, careful with how tight he’s winding them around Caleb’s forearms. He clears his throat as he rips the first and tucks the tail under, “I’ve gotten used to seeing you without these,” he says quietly.

“I have gotten used to not wearing them,” Caleb admits, voice hushed.

Fjord hums as he finishes off the second arm and takes both of Caleb’s wrists in his hands to inspect his work. It’ll do and at least he knows that Caleb won’t get an infection from them. “Should be all good,” he tells him, but doesn’t release his wrists.

He’s not sure what prompts him to do it, his pesky sense of hesitation and self awareness still vacant, but he brings Caleb’s wrists up and presses a kiss to each in turn.

Above him, Caleb inhales sharply.

There’s no playing this off, so he does a gentle sweep with his thumbs, then releases Caleb, “There, all better.”

When he finally dares to glance up, Caleb is watching him, his expression very soft, “You have forgotten your accent,” he says, but doesn’t step away.

Fjord clears his throat and tries to call it back to himself, but fails, “You scared me.”

That seems to confound Caleb.

“I thought something was wrong, that you were being hurt,” he continues, careful, “And you were.”

Caleb doesn’t say anything, twisting his lips, but his hands lift and he presses his palms to Fjord’s face, a gentle framing. “How is it--” Caleb pauses, eyebrows drawing together, thumbs sweeping in slow arcs over Fjord’s cheeks, “How is it the world has done so much to you and you still manage to be so good?”

He opens his mouth to rebuff but Caleb’s thumb dips down, presses against his lower lip and the small jut of his tusk.

“No, you are a good man, Fjord,” Caleb tips his head, meets his gaze, “Do not doubt that now.”

“Alright,” Fjord agrees, though skepticism is ever present.

Caleb nods and Fjord wonders if he realizes what he’s doing, his thumb rubbing over Fjord’s lower lip in dizzying passes, “I want--” His face twists and he doesn’t continue.

The same feeling that had him bursting through Caleb’s door, had him wrapping around the wizard, had him kissing his hands, bubbles up again and he reaches out, frames Caleb’s waist with his palms. It makes him look smaller, more vulnerable, his waist small under his sleep shirt. Fjord thinks he can feel a rib. “You’re allowed to want things, Caleb.”

Caleb makes a strange sound, a cut off dismissal maybe, his back curving forwards. His forehead knocks gently off Fjord’s, then rests there, his eyes twisted tightly closed, “You would not say that if you knew what I wanted.”

“I think that’s for me to decide.”

That draws another tiny sound from Caleb, but it also makes him open his eyes, the usual bright blue darkened to navy in the dim light of the room. Fjord meets his gaze and waits and waits and waits. All at once, Caleb sags forward, body collapsing into Fjord until he’s nearly in Fjord’s lap. Their lips brush, a not quite kiss, but Fjord lifts a hand, cups his jaw, tilts him just so.

Then it’s a kiss.

Caleb keens, his arm dropping to Fjord’s shoulders, and Fjord has to wrap an arm around his back to keep him upright.

They brush their lips again and again, gentle presses, soft brushes, hard bruising pushes against each other. And when Caleb pulls back, cheeks pink, Fjord’s lips feel raw and swollen. He licks them, watches Caleb shudder, then push away, recreating the gap between them.

It feels cavernous now and his hands land on his thighs.

Caleb reaches down though and scoops them both into his, brings them up to presses a series of gentle kisses over Fjord’s knuckles. He lowers them, “Thank you, Fjord.”

He stares, several steps behind Caleb as usual, then clears his throat and stands. It puts them close together again, because Caleb doesn’t back away now, stays close their hands are trapped between their chests. He presses a kiss to Caleb’s forehead then takes his own step back, “You should try and rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“Ja, you’re right,” Caleb releases his hand and sinks down on the edge of his bed.

Fjord doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to be alone, doesn’t want to be apart from Caleb, doesn’t want to give himself a chance to overthink what’s just transpired. He steps away anyways, taking careful steps to the door so his feet don’t slap on the stone, “Good night, Caleb.”

“Good night, Fjord,” he hears and then the soft snap of Caleb’s fingers, the tickle of magic across the back of his neck that means Frumpkin is on their plane now.

The door shuts with a gentle click behind him and he breathes out into the dark of the library, squaring himself to return to his own room.


	6. sick fjord being taken of by caleb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jos wanted caleb taking care of sick fjord and this is what came of that.

The room is dark when Caleb quietly presses the door open. Inky darkness that the dim light of the hall barely penetrates. He frowns, palms the stone in his pocket and burns a bit of magic off. He has to blink a few times to refocus, can now see the room better, the colorless outline of the bed and the lump that’s there under the blankets.

He steps in, quiet and careful, listens to the rough breathing with a grimace.

It’s only a few steps into the room that he nearly trips over a piece of discarded clothing and barely keeps hold of the tray in his arms. There’s a quiet clink of the objects against each other and he freezes, waits.

There’s no response, so he edges around what he thinks might be trousers and finishes his trek to the table. He slides the tray onto the table and turns his attention to the hearth. One of the logs from the side and a few firebolts and the room is suffused with a warm glow.

The lump on the bed rustles, groans quietly.

Caleb sighs and crosses to the bed, “Fjord,” he says quietly, gently prying at the blankets. 

They’re tucked up over Fjord’s head and the first thing he finds is sweat damp curls, then an ear, cheek, nose, tusks. Even with the dim light of the fire, he can tell that Fjord’s coloring isn’t right, pale and washed out, covered in a sheen of sweat. He makes a soft sympathetic sound before he can stop himself, cupping his palm over Fjord’s forehead.

Fjord runs hot on a good day, but this is inferno levels of heat.

Even fitfully sleeping like he is, he presses into Caleb’s hand, whines quietly, tries to get more contact.

Caleb presses a kiss to his sweaty temple and withdraws regretfully back to the table. There’s more rustling from the bed and he knows without looking that Fjord is seeking him out, the way he does on lazy, sleepy mornings when Caleb is the first to drag himself from the warmth of their bed.

There’s medicine on the tray, some vial of stuff that Caduceus had concocted with help from both Yeza and the Wildmother in a strange collaboration that Caleb isn’t sure he understands, but if it works, he’ll take it.

It smells... strange when he uncorks it, the scent wafting from the small bottle and he pours some into the little shot glass that he’d nicked from Nott’s collections. He doubts he’ll get it back before she notices it’s gone, but he doesn’t think she’ll mind.

Much.

He goes back to the bed, sits on the edge, and realizes that Fjord’s awake now, if only just so.

His eyes are open, though hazy, and his pupils don’t seem to know what to do, like he’s having trouble deciding what to focus on so they keep expanding and contracting. They stop when he sees Caleb though, blown wide open, and Caleb presses his palm to Fjord’s cheek, “Hallo, bârchen,” he greets.

Fjord doesn’t respond with words and he’s not expecting him to. Apparently Fjord’s been all but nonverbal since he came down with his fever, according to Caduceus, Yeza, and Nott, who’d all been present with him when this sickness had come on.

However, he does attempt to curl himself around Caleb, which is endearing and adorable and also concerning since he hasn’t even had a chance to take his shoes off. He runs his hands through Fjord’s sweaty hair, petting it back from his face, “I need you to drink something for me,” he says softly and wiggles the glass at Fjord.

The recoil Fjord does as soon as he smells the liquid would be hilarious if Caleb didn’t think he were in for a fight on this.

He wiggles the glass again, “Bitte, for me?” He tries.

Fjord groans pitifully and Caleb laughs softly, “There he is,” he says, bending to buff a kiss along Fjord’s cheek, “Come on, it’s only a little. I have some soup to help, if you want it.”

It takes maneuvering, to get Fjord propped up on pillows at the head of the bed, but he knocks back the glass of medicine in one go with only a grimace of complaint, and his attempt at stopping Caleb from leaving the bed is half hearted at best.

Caleb crosses the room to his desk and sheds his books and holsters, his component pouch, and then his boots, “The others ambushed me as soon as I got through the circle,” he says conversationally. The bowl of broth is still warm when he cups his hand around it, so he lifts it up and the spoon, “Apparently you’ve been an uncooperative patient.”

Fjord makes a tetchy grumbling sound in his throat and when Caleb turns towards the bed, he’s pouting, arms crossed over his chest and everything. He says something, low and under his breath, so Caleb arches a brow at him.

“Keeping that to yourself?” He asks as he returns to his spot at the edge of the bed, offering the spoon and bowl to Fjord.

There’s no response for a bit as Fjord considers the bowl and the spoon and eventually just takes the bowl. He smells it first, his ears twitching against his scalp, and Caleb watches him, quiet in his amusement and fondness. Then he drinks from the bowl, holding it cupped in both hands like an over large tea cup.

The bowl is empty when he hands it back and Caleb hums softly, “Gut,” he takes the bowl and unused spoon back to the tray. He thinks about messaging one of the others, but decides against it, returning to the bed.

This time he settles himself in on his own side, up against the pillows and lifts his arm, “Come here,” though it’s unnecessary. Fjord is already pushing in against his side, curling into his chest, arm across his middle. “Feel any better?”

Fjord hums, rubbing his sweaty face all over Caleb’s shirt, “Little bit.” His voice is hoarse, thick with whatever sickness he’s got.

“Want to tell me why you gave the others such a hard time?” He asks, already running his fingers through Fjord’s hair, cupping his palm over the back of Fjord’s neck, then back up through his hair. Once Fjord is feeling a little better, they’ll have to change the blankets on the bed.

And a trip to the bathhouse will be long due, though he doubts Fjord will try and beg off of that.

Fjord grumbles where he’s at and Caleb can feel the beginnings of a rumble in his chest, though the sound doesn’t come and he wonders if being sick is affecting that. “I can’t remember the last time I was sick,” he says eventually.

“You are a very hardy fellow,” he agrees, wonders if Fjord had been a child the last time he’d been sick, if there’d been anyone to take care of him. Probably not.

“Sorry I cut your trip short,” Fjord says, very very quiet.

Caleb pauses, breathes out quietly, thinks of some people he wouldn’t mind seeing dead, then resumes combing his fingers through Fjord’s hair, “Do not apologize for that, Fjord. You are far more important than any of that.”

Fjord wiggles a little, pulling the blanket up towards his ears, though he’s careful not to dislodge Caleb’s hand, “I’m not gonna be good company,” his voice has gone soft around the edges, a little slurred with impending sleep and he wonders if it’s all sickness or if the medicine had something to help that along.

“That’s all right, you focus on getting better. I’ll be right here when you wake up,” he says, though he doesn’t think Fjord hears most of it, breathing levelling out. He snaps Frumpkin into this plane and tells him to curl up at Fjord’s back and before long the room is filled with sounds of purring and congested breathing.


	7. coming home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just feeling a lot of things so have some post canon softness.

“CAPTAIN! CAP- would you get out of my bloody way! CAPTAIN!”

Fjord heaves a sigh, pinching his nose between his fingers as he breathes out, placing his fork down next to his plate. 

A minute later, Marius bursts into the galley, hair a mess around his face and spyglass hanging around his neck. His cheeks are red and he nearly crashes into the bench opposite Fjord in his haste, “Captain.”

Raising an eyebrow, Fjord waves a hand, “Out with it.”

Marius grins, “The lighthouse is lit.”

His face slowly falls while Fjord processes before he suddenly jerks, tips back the last of his ale, and stands, “Well, why didn’t you lead with that?”

Marius laughs and is already pulling the spyglass off when Fjord holds out his hand. And he dogs Fjord’s heels all the way to the top deck. Though he stays on the deck while Fjord climbs his way up to the nest. 

The sun is disappearing below the horizon, giving the faintest outline of the coast, and he lifts the spyglass. 

He finds the newer lighthouse first, a simple obelisk jutting from the waters, casting a beacon of light out onto the nearer waters. It’s not what he’s looking for though. Her face is what he finds first, the Wildmother carved from stone, features smoothed by time and weather. He breathes out at the sight and drags his gaze up to the top glass housing. 

It’s not properly operational any longer, not with the new lighthouse and its magics and not without Gladys around any longer to keep it up constantly. But there is a fire burning there, and that’s all Fjord cares about. 

He lowers the spyglass and tilts over the edge of the crow’s nest to look at the ship’s wheel, “Orly! How long?”

Orly squints out over the water, “M-mornin’, C’p’n.”

Fjord heaves a sigh and climbs down to the deck once more, handing the glass back to Marius, “Did you trade shifts again?”

Marius shifts, starts up the ladder, “Lost a bet.”

“What about this time?”

It’s telling that Marius waits until he’s higher up the ladder, out of immediate reach, “I thought you were gonna urge us on faster. Get us to port sooner.”

“You were betting on my impatience?”

Marius stalls, a yard from the nest, glances down at him, “No offense, Fjord, but it’s been _months_ ,” he wiggles his eyebrows then yelps and scrambles up when Fjord starts pooling fire in his palm. 

Fjord laughs and releases the spell, “Stop making bets about me!”

There’s no use though, it’ll keep happening and he’ll keep pretending to be perturbed about it. He heads to the wheel, leans against the rail looking over the decks, “Orly, get some rest. I’ll take it, we’ll need you in the morning to make port.”

Orly claps him on the shoulder and doesn’t bother arguing as he passes. It’s taken ages to get to this point but the crew knows better than to argue it now. 

Fjord knows he won’t sleep even if he tries, so he makes use of his restlessness. 

The deck quiets once the sun has fully set and Fjord enjoys the calm, watching the faint outline of the coast come slowly closer as the moon reaches its peak. 

A warm breeze rushes through and he breathes a quiet, “Thank you,” to it as the sails pick up with it, pressing them on just a little faster. 

It doesn’t abate and after about an hour, he thinks, Marius slides down the ladder, squinting from the sails to him, “This your doing, Captain?”

“Mm, no,” Fjord grins at him, thumbs the pendant around his neck, “She’s guiding us home.”

Marius doesn’t respond, tips his face towards the breeze instead, and Fjord’s grin softens into a smile as the quiet gentle lap of waves against the ship takes over once more. 

The breeze stays steady through most of the night and only eases with the first rays of sunlight break the horizon and the coast makes up their forward horizon, the outline of the Menagerie Coast all that’s visible. 

He’s not sure what time it is when the moon is starting its decent and a voice rings out of his head. 

“Hi Fjord! Or should I say Captain Tusktooth? I hope you’re doing well! You’re coming back soon, right? Because we all really miss you, especially—“

Smothering a laugh against his knuckles, Fjord smiles as he replies, “Hi, Jes. I’m looking at the lighthouses right now. Orly says by morning. Miss you all and looking forward to being home. See you soon.”

He waits for a response, but it doesn’t come. It doesn’t need to though, he feels lighter the closer they get and her words only further the feeling. 

Orly rejoins him with plates of breakfast for them both and doesn’t comment on the good time they’ve made while they eat. 

They’re hours ahead of schedule and even after a night awake, but sedate, Fjord feels energized as they pass the first lighthouse and start rolling the sails up to ease their berth into the docks. 

Once the anchor is dropped and they’re tied down, Fjord makes nice with the harbormaster while the crew unloads their haul to sell. 

He’s just made it into the cargo hold to help out when Mara plants a hand on his chest and shoves him right back out the door, “The hell are you still doing here, Cap?”

Fjord blinks at her, opens his mouth—

“—Due respect, but I will carry you off this ship myself,” she interrupts, staring him down from several inches below his actual eye level. 

He holds up his hands, “I’ll leave it in your capable hands,” he says and then winks before he turns to book it off the ship. No one’s got to tell him twice. 

The dock is already busy, but no one really seems bothered when he goes racing by, dodging through people, careful not to get in the way of shipments being unloaded or loaded onto any ships. A few people call out greetings to him though he doesn’t think any are expecting him to stop and if so, well, he’ll apologize later. 

He slows when he’s out of the docks proper and the base of the lighthouse comes into view. 

The door swings open when he’s about a hundred feet away and he doesn’t falter, actually picks up pace so his boots smack off the stone beneath him. 

A second later, a figure emerges. 

Caleb looks soft, sleep warm, and dressed down in simple trousers and a loose tunic, barefoot on the stone, and he’s absolutely the most beautiful thing Fjord’s ever seen. 

His smile is soft as well when he sees Fjord in return, eyes crinkling in the corners as he spreads his arms. 

Fjord barrels into him, lifts him right off his feet, pressing his face into Caleb’s neck as he breathes him in. Marius had been right, it has been months, and he intends to make up for all that time, starting with hugging Caleb silly, right here outside the lighthouse where anyone could see them.

He doesn’t think he’ll get any protests.

Not with how Caleb laughs, soft and low, and curls around him easy, arms over his shoulders, legs around his waist. 

Long fingers card through his hair and the rumbling purr kicks up in his chest almost immediately as he smudges his mouth along Caleb’s scruffy jaw, the column of his neck, down to the scar not quite hidden by the slipping collar of the tunic he’s got on.

And, now, this close, Fjord realizes it’s his own tunic and squeezes his arms around Caleb, huffs a laugh when Caleb wheezes a breath out and tugs his hair. He loosens his hold again, says, “I missed you,” against his throat.

“And I you,” Caleb tugs at his hair again, tilting his head back, still smiling when Fjord meets his gaze. “Kiss me, sailor,” he demands quietly and Fjord eagerly obliges him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on twitter @vowofenmity


	8. soft affirmations or something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fingers crossed for tonight????

The house is warm when Fjord finally drags himself to consciousness, though the space next to him on the bed is cool. He’s in no rush though, everyone had poured in late last night, hopefully that means a lazy morning for all of them.

It doesn’t explain where Caleb’s gotten off to so early, but he enjoys the bed for a few minutes longer, stretching himself across the sheets. There’s no one to witness him mashing his face into Caleb’s pillow, so he indulges himself in that as well as he stretches his toes towards the foot of their bed, arches his back, tries to will his body to some state of wakefulness.

He pulls on an old shirt when he finally leaves the bed, something so worn out that he’s surprised the seams are still holding up. It’s soft though, smells like home, and he doesn’t bother changing out of his sleep pants before he heads down the stairs. The stone is cold under his bare feet and he’s so used to it, he barely notices. 

The library is surprisingly empty when he pokes his head in the room, the hearth dark, so he carries on through the house.

Frumpkin is the first living being he finds, sprawled like a fur rug in front of the hearth in the kitchen, his tail lazy swishing across the ground. Fondness wells in him at the sight, but not so much as when he fully enters the room, finds Caleb bent over his spellbook at the table.

“Cay,” he greets quietly, pressing his knuckles against his mouth to stifle a yawn.

Caleb only startles a little, lifts his pen from the page without leaving a stroke of ink, “Ah, good morning, bärchen, I didn’t hear you.”

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he offers as he walks to Caleb at the table, presses a kiss to the crown of his head, “Why are you working down here?” He sinks onto the bench next to Caleb, pressing their sides together, elbow on the table as he mashes his cheek into his palm, bleary eyed as he looks over Caleb’s spellbook.

None of it makes a bit of sense to him, not the complicated spells Caleb’s gotten the grasp of as of late.

Caleb starts packing his things together, meticulous in his patterns, though he’s careful with his spellbook, pressing it away to the edge of the table for the ink to dry, “We were all up very late, I was letting you get your rest.”

“Did you get enough rest?” He asks, reaching out to tuck some of Caleb’s hair behind his ear, ends up running his fingers through it instead. It’s over halfway down his back now, soft as it slides through his fingers, and Fjord thinks about washing it the previous morning, while Caleb had been a quiet, pensive ball of nerves in the tub.

It’d been braided when they’d gone to sleep the previous night, so now it hangs in loose waves, like fire spilling down Caleb’s back, reflecting the flickering flames of the hearth.

“Ja, I slept quite well actually,” Caleb answers and he’s smiling, a small thing as he tilts in towards Fjord, a great weight lifted off his shoulders. The kiss is warm and Caleb tastes like tea and Fjord is sure he’s still sleep stale, but that stops neither of them.

When they pull apart, it’s a slow drift, though Fjord tips his head down against Caleb’s bony shoulder with another quiet yawn, “You deserved it.”

Caleb’s hand brushes down the back of his head, cups his neck, his touch gentle but sure, “I did, didn’t I?” He asks, quiet and genuine, sounding surprised, wondrous. Like the breadth of what he’s done is only just sinking in, which wouldn’t surprise Fjord a bit.

“You deserve more than just a good night’s rest, but I think it’s a start,” Fjord says, to his neck and collar, nuzzles there, inhales the scent of ink and smoke and molasses and himself.

The hand on his neck slides up, through his hair, rests there for a moment, “Your help was invaluable, you know.” Caleb’s nails scrape over his scalp, a slow drag up and down that threatens to lull him to sleep again combined with the smell of him, the gentle thud of his heartbeat, “I could not have accomplished that without you.”

Fjord has to bite back a retort, because really, he didn’t do much. He was a sounding board for Caleb to talk at, he made sure that Caleb remembered to take care of himself while he was spellcrafting, but, in the end, it was all Caleb’s mind that did it. Instead he says, “I’ll always be here to help.”

“I know you will,” Caleb replies, quiet and wondrous again.

He nudges a kiss to Caleb’s throat, muffles another yawn there against his skin, “That promise feels like a lifetime ago.”

Caleb hums, squirms a little, nails digging in against his scalp briefly, “Ja, it certainly does.”

And Caleb is the one to seek out his hand, to twine their fingers together, to let their palms press, scars gentle scrapes of a reminder.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @vowofenmity on twitter and redhoods on tumblr.


End file.
